


The Lovers

by Wicker



Series: Second String Hunters [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Kiss, POV First Person, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 04:52:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12403536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicker/pseuds/Wicker
Summary: A little bit of a rewind- how Ash and Pamela first got together. First person ahoy!





	The Lovers

Let me rewind a bit. There’s a few things I need to explain, but… well, I come off as an asshole in this piece of the story. I feel like I’m exposing my stacks of pizza boxes, girlie mags, beer can pyramids, and peeling Aerosmith posters. I swear I clean up better.

Hunters have been falling out of contact, turning up dead, or worse. Things have just been a little thin lately, with fewer people covering bigger territories. And me, with my mullet and scars, just going out to the grocery store in the middle of the night to get my batch of terrible dietary decisions from the freezer aisle and my twice-weekly case of PBR… I became predictable, routine, and more shallow than a grease pan. I’m lucky as hell that it wasn’t a monster that clued in that I was still alive.

Somewhere along the way I ended up running dispatch, since Bobby… well, it’s down to me, and it’s been getting worse, and my research has all but stopped.

So I didn’t introduce this really, but there’s a lot of sites I monitor to stay in the game, so I can be everywhere at once, and you better _believe_ I don’t use my real name. Everybody still thinks I’m deader than a doornail. I use a chat board to talk about case files with people who tag in.

Something about this interaction made me put a pin in it. I’ve cut out the first part, where we said hello and I totally tried to flirt with her and she told me to cut the shit.

 

**Chat Excerpt 3/24/12**

**LuckyBliindBruja777(23:42):** You know, those ass-kickers? They were huge flirts, too. And looked like underwear models.

 **CleverAlias(23:46):** Oh, you’re comparing me to the Winchesters?

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(23:47):** Not really. You miss them, don’t you?

 **CleverAlias(23:51):** It’s not like we hung out, but yeah.

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(23:51):** I knew them too.

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(23:52):** We weren’t…  close. Lord knows I wanted to be. Could climb Sam like a tree.

 **CleverAlias(23:55):** Yeah, so anyway.

 **CleverAlias(23:55):** Can you handle a werewolf in Lubbock? I got my hands full in Truckee.

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(23:57):** Maybe. My partner’s M.I.A. again.

 **CleverAlias(23:58):** Do I know him? Is he my Dad?

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(23:59):** No. You got anybody else?

 **CleverAlias(00:04):** Not in the area. Can you solo it?

_LuckyBlindBruja777 has exited the chat._

**CleverAlias(00:05):** Fuck.

****

**Chat Excerpt 3/30/12**

****

**LuckyBlindBruja777(15:30)** : Hey I need you to find somebody.

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(15:35):** HEY.

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(15:48):** Ash. I need you to respond.

 **CleverAlias(15:51):** How did you figure out who I was? I’ve been very careful.

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(15:52):** I held a seance.

 **CleverAlias(15:52):** ...for real though?

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(15:54):** No, we know a lot of the same people. How did you get out of the roadhouse?

 **CleverAlias(16:02):** … none of your fucking business. Who the hell is this?

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(16:05):** Pamela Barnes.

 **CleverAlias(16:05):** Haha, that’s hilarious.

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(16:05):** What’s so funny?

 **CleverAlias(16:08):** She’s blind. and dead.

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(16:10):** I use dragon software to type, and I faked my own death. Come on, Ash, I thought you were smarter than this.

 **CleverAlias(16:10):** You have a point. I am.

 **CleverAlias(16:11):** Okay, who’s the somebody you need found?

 **LuckyBlindBruja777(16:14):** He’s an angel named Balthazar.

 

* * *

 

And that’s how I met Pamela.

We never did find her angel.

Which was okay by me- Angels are dangerous as a general rule. Of course, I tried to find him, but there were too many variables. I assumed, naturally, that he wasn’t the kind to use credit cards, but I kept an eye out for the sort of events that could point to an angel- miracles, and weird shit. But this was 2012, and weird things were everywhere. Most of them were terrible. Croatoan was just a bump in the road.

Now, it wasn’t as weird as when the angels all fell out of heaven, but things were dangerous, enough to make me jumpy as hell. I asked Pamela if she needed help. She said no, but then said she wanted to meet up with me in Colorado, in a little town that looked pretty enough from the inside of my van.

I didn’t want to be there, of course. There was too much sun, so I tried to drive at night, and I also stuck to the gas stations where I could stick a credit card into the pump and get by without having to talk to people.

I’ve really changed. It’s been years since I even tried to talk to a cute girl, and I used to flirt all the dang time. I know that the important thing, despite what I look like now, is that I survived the fire.

Pamela was someone in the hunter circles that I’d never met, but I wasn’t prepared for the way she looked, even from a distance. Her hair was long and black, bangs neat across her forehead. She wore black, tight jeans and a loose v-neck shirt. Pretty much the opposite of the lady I’d imagined carrying a white cane with a red tip. She was the only one sitting alone in the mall food court, perched on a plastic chair next to a suitcase on wheels and tilting her head back, blackout glasses hiding her eyes. There was an instrumental cover of _“Everlong”_ by the Foo Fighters playing, and everything suddenly seemed so weird that I had to stand there for a minute to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.  

She was probably the only person that hadn’t noticed me. I looked like a stoner, which would have been true normally, but today I was dead sober. It was just that I was dressed out of the bum-skater section of the Salvation Army.

“Hey Pamela,” I said, unable to stand there any longer and pretend I was having a moment when really I was just standing around checking her out.

“Ash?” She twisted her head, and I was reminded of a radar dish.

“Yeah, it’s me.” I wish I’d thought of something more clever. Like a pun, or a movie reference from before she went blind.

She stood up and I had to make sure she wasn’t wearing heels. Nope, she was wearing Converse; I was just short. Pamela stuck out her hand, and I shook it- her thumb passed quickly over the glossy-scarred skin on the back of my knuckles, and I jerked back.

“Sorry,” I said reflexively. So much for being suave and charming.  

“Why? You lived.” She shrugged and bent to pull up the handle of her rolling case with a click.

“Yeah, you too, right?” I looked around the food court, saw the few people trying not to obviously stare. Blind lady and a burn victim. Fucking rad.

We got to my van in silence before she spoke again.

“Please tell me this isn’t painted teal and green with ‘Mystery Machine’ on the side,” she smirked as I opened the sliding door for her. She felt  her way inside, hand lightly on my forearm.

I immediately realized that I should have cleaned the van out. She put her hand down on the seat and knocked the Doritos and newspapers onto the floor.

She laughed. “Oh damn, sorry.”

“Don’t be, I shoulda cleaned, hang on.” I tried to tidy it up a little, piling my shit into the very back of the van, and she just kinda… leaned on me, feeling my shoulders, fingers creeping under the collar of my holey t-shirt.

I kinda froze up, I’m embarrassed to say. But then the old mojo kicked back in, I said “Hey there,” and I fumbled at her hair, touching it and then immediately pulling back, relocating to her back. Oh yeah, I was smooth as _hell._ I wasn’t going to be staring at the ceiling every night and reliving this awkward moment.

“Oh my. Well, aren’t you a fast little thing,” she murmured, hands slipping down to my hip.

“I can be,” I turned, flopping down on my elbow across the floor of the van. I shoved the packages under the seat.

Her hand came so close to brushing my groin but at the last second she corrected, gripped my thigh, and smoothed my cargo shorts down to my knee.

“You gonna get driving anytime soon?”

“Depends, how much do you like the back of this van?”

“It kinda smells like cheetos.” She smirked and adjusted her sunglasses, then climbed up over me. I could almost see up her shirt. Almost. Pamela got off me and pulled her case into the van, plopped down on the seat.

I wondered, morbidly, if she had eyes or just the vacant sockets. I decided to not think about it right then.  “Where to?” I asked as I crawled into the front seat.

“We’re headed to Kansas, so maybe get a move-on. This is gonna take a couple days. Longer, if my lead’s too old.”

The van started up with a short whine, but we were good to go. “What are we looking for?”

“Shelter,” she said, finding the buckle. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to catch a nap.”

“You got it.” I turned the radio down.

 

* * *

 

The motel was like any other, and at the same time, unique in how hideous it was. This room had two beds, a strange kind of privacy screen made of large playing cards. The carpet was better if he didn’t look directly at it.

He helped Pamela get her case out of the van, and showed her to the door of the room. She put her hand on the wall and sniffed the air in the room.

“Yeah, sorry,” I apologized too soon.

“No, it’s fine. We don’t have a very large budget anyways,” she smirked as she took some few hesitant steps.

“Oh, were you kicking in any change? I got this anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll get the pizza tonight.” She hummed and moved slowly into the room, using her red-tipped cane like sonar.

I paced a little, waited for her to find the bed and settle down.

“You can uh… take first shower, Pam, if you’d like.”

“What about you, hon?” She touched the bed with her cane and walked right at me instead.

I started to sidestep, and her hand reached out and grabbed my hip, fingers sliding between my skin and the rough material of my jeans.

I could have lit myself on fire and it wouldn’t have jolted me so much. She leaned in close, lips near my ear, and moved that blazing-hot hand up under my shirt, across my belly, and into the scarred territory of my left ribs.

“Seems like you could use a shower too,” she purred.

All I could do was squeak, “That isn’t gonna just wash off, Pam.”

“Been a long time for you, Ash?”

I laughed, it was a sad sound. “Yeah, well, sometimes I like to close my eyes and pretend real hard.”

“You don’t have to close your eyes with me.”

“I know,” I replied defensively. This was more intimate than I think I had ever been with a woman, really. I could hardly stand it. Fucking was _one_ thing, but this was somehow _closer._ I had no clue what to do. I needed music, and a tray of jello slots. Instead I had stark, cold sobriety and an incredibly forward woman wrapping around me, brushing my jaw with her cheek.

I hadn’t been _wanted_ in… possibly ever. I always relied on my own seductive techniques and the help of Jagermeister to pull honeys into my waterbed.

She kissed me, softly, and pulled back. “You’re not ready for this, are you, Ash?”

I shook my head, struck mute.

Pamela pet my hair and smiled softly. “Some other time, maybe.”

“So, first shower is you?” I gulped, voice thready.

“Alright, if you don’t want the hot water.” She pointed. “This way?”

“Other side of the bed,” I said. Pam shuffled that way. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, order the pizza, wallet’s in my bag- outer zipper pocket,” Pamela commented, going into the bathroom and shutting the door. The shower turned on about thirty seconds later, and I let out the breath I was holding.

How weird it was to navigate a stranger’s shower, and do it blind. I kept my ears open for any weird bangs, the sound of her falling against the sink or toilet sink.

At least she couldn’t see the puce shower stall or the checkerboard tile. I ordered the pizza, got pepperoni and olive, figuring that would be tame enough to please us both.

 

* * *

 

The pizza came before she got out of the bathroom, but only just. I had closed the door after handing over the cash, boxes in hand and ready to take them to the table, when I saw her emerging from the bathroom, one towel around the hair on her head, and the other wrapped from just above her breasts to the tops of her thighs.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“Ash?” she asked the room. Could have heard a pin drop.

“Y-yeah. Pizza’s here. I got Pepperoni and Olive.”

“Alright, thanks,” She nodded and opened her bag to retrieve her pajamas.

I wasn’t sure why I was so embarrassed about staring- it wasn’t like she would notice.

“I still know when you’re looking, Ash. Psychic, remember?”

The noise that came out of me was mostly stuttering vowels. Pamela just snickered and went back into the bathroom to change.

The pizza was eminently edible, at least. And god, I worked up an appetite driving over 500 miles.

When she came back out she used her cane to find the edge of the room, then circumnavigated the dresser and TV to find the table. I wondered if she could smell her way, of if she was listening for my brainwaves. “You got it?” I asked.

Pamela snorted. “Yeah, cowboy, this is way easy.” She touched the table and felt her way into a seat at it.

“Want some soda?”

“Maybe some water. Thanks, Ash.”

I got up and got her some water. She read the pizza by braille, found herself a good-sized wedge, and pulled it onto a napkin. When I put the cup down, I made sure to make a noise with it so she could find it.

We sat down together. She didn’t have her glasses on all the way up, and I could see the wrinkled skin of her eyelid.

It wasn’t that bad. I mean, it didn’t bother me. I mean, I felt like an asshole for wondering, because I was. It wasn’t like I had a chance with her, not once she got a good picture of  me.

“You’re thinking very loudly, Ash.”

“Yeah, sorry,” I shoved a bite into my mouth and then garbled around it. “Whassa plan?”

She snickered “For starters, I’m gonna eat this pizza, and sleep. We’ll head out in the morning.”

“Yeah, but… to where?” I asked, dumbly.

“There’s a node in Kansas. Rather, there’s an empty spot where there should be an intersection of lay lines, you dig?”

“I understand the words you’re saying,” I replied sarcastically.

Pamela blew her bangs up in exasperation. “Okay, it’s fine. I’ve done my research. The place is an old fortress belonging to an international fraternity of occult researchers.”

“Do you mean the Men of Letters?”

She sat up a little straighter. “Why, yes. How did you hear about them?”

“Internet’s a big place. They abandoned the U.S. more than fifty years ago, right?”

“Mostly they’re just in the U.K. They’re not hunters. If you meet one it’s like they have to tell you.”

“Like they’re vegan, or do cross-fit, or go to Burning Man.”

Pam snapped her fingers. “Exactly.”

“So this fortress.”

“It’s been there for a while, I’m not sure of the state of it. But I have a key, and I doubt their warding’s gone down, even with all the time that’s gone by.”

“Are we going to break in, sell it on Ebay?”

“No, Ash. For heaven’s sake. I just said I have a key. And we’ll need the things in there.”

“Why?” I asked, maybe a little flippant.

“We’re gonna need a shelter for the shit that’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” I didn’t like the way the hair on the back of my neck was trying to stick up. Or the way the TV buzzed suddenly in the background, like the wires weren’t grounded properly.

She smirked and shrugged. “It’s only the end of the world again.”


End file.
